


Dala Horse

by CousinNick



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinNick/pseuds/CousinNick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the year1700 and Sweden's Golden Age is under attack! Tino is hit hard by the advances of the War and fears for his very survival. When he spies a wounded Calvary soldier on his land, he begins to realize the fight for what you love is sometimes worth all the pain. Rated M for reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History Re-Telling

EDIT: THIS IS A RE-UPLOAD OF THE FIRST EDITED CHAPTER!: "What's she doing, starting another story?" Yeah….I know, I'm stupid… But this idea has been permanently burned in my skull and I just gotta' get it out! I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor its characters though I do own this : If you are squeamish of blood, killing, and violence-YE BE WARNED! (Or y'know….decided to read it because you're secretly a blood lover and you wanna' read some really good disgusting shit.) I'd like to thank my beautiful translators- MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, koolionbutterflyhahaha, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99, and Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. Much love to you guys!

So climb into a time machine (Tardis preferred), grab a Swedish Textbook-and get ready, cuz we're about to go back to March 1700-to learn about a little painted horse that gave hope to a few lonely souls amidst the bloody hardships of a long and devastating war….

….

Ratta-tatttttt…..swzzzzzergggggggratta-tatttaaaaatttaaaa….boom….ratta-tatatatatatataa….

There the sounds were again, the booms and thrills of the muskets, the smoky sky that blocked out the whiteness of the stars with their black tendrils and their ashen breath. The pine trees swayed and creaked like broken bones pushed back and forth in some weary dance. Tino almost wished they would just topple and fall. Fall on the house and shatter the roof, break the thin tiles and the sweet cedar smelling wood. Collapse on top and instantly killing him and his little baby boy. A quick death, covered in debris and dust and ultimately left along. Tino bit his lip as he clutched his precious son to him, the little child no more than seven years of age and yet he had seen so much folly and strife in that short amount of time. Ohh yes, he just wished the trees would topple down and end this all.

Thinking of such things, such dreary dreary things, the Finn's eyes grew sad as he looked at the crown of the childs head as Peter, his adopted son since long ago, buried his nose against his Pappa's shoulders. Tino could feel the childs limbs quaking beneath him and could feel the warm drops of tears on his collar bone as they pattered from squeezed eyes. Tino sighed solemnly, holding Peter closer to him as they waited out the gunfire that seemed like it was right at their door step and not a few miles away.

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrg…ratatataaaatatatattttttaaaaa….boom!

Another mountain blown away, another forest cut, another man cut down with a blood curdling scream. Another night in hell.

The Finn of twenty winters cringed once more, hearing the clicks from the muskets drone on and on, closer and closer. Rattatatat! It was like a bloody call from a great heavy monster, with wicked jaws and clicking teeth-the monster of war.

Click click click.

They used to not hear it so often, yet now it was like a lullaby of death and screams had come to roll them back into sleep each night. Or what little sleep they could afford to give themselves…

It had only been a few weeks since the Danes had decided to make one of the first military advancements in the war-take back what had been stolen from them by the Swedish Empire long ago-take back Holstien-Gottorp.*

It was bad luck, all bad luck, Tino would say to himself each morning as he pulled on his leather shoes and slung his rifle over his shoulders and made his way to the meager fields that fed him and his son.

Just a nasty draw of cards, a nasty roll of the die, a struggle between the Devil and God-the Devil was winning.

Another burst of noise flew over their heads-cannons. They were using cannons now.

It was a sharper louder noise than before and it didn't take long for Peter to make a clipped scream of fright as they skyrocketed over them, causing the house to shake a bit-it's small posts of wood and leather doing little to hold the shanty together. For a second Tino thought the whole thing would fall apart and collapse on top of them.

T'would be a better way to die than by a Danish musket…. Tino thought bitterly.

The Swede's had promised the citizens of the Swedish Satellite state of Holstien-Gottorp absolute protection from the Danes. And Tino damned well believed it, being a residence of the state since he was born. He was a Finn living in a Swedish world, so he knew the promise wasn't exactly engraved in gold or anything. But it was a promise and promises, no matter how much they lie, seem to be better than the cold hard truth.

Yet ever since Frederik IV of Denmark-Norway set his vengeful eyes back on the sight of the beloved Danish land that had been taken from him by the Swedes, the war had escalated into a bloody battle for Sweden to keep her prideful standing as the most powerful country in the Baltic's-a title that was slowly slipping from the countries grasp. Even Charles V of Denmark who later took the throne had his sights set on territory lost to the gleaming swords of the Swedes. Scania and Holstien-Gottorp were the prizes, and Tino knew the Danes would fight to their last breath to take back those lands that were rightfully theirs.

Tino bit his lip sourly, it was all politics, all struggles to keep dominance over the other. The Finn knew this little war hadn't just been thought of in the blink of an eye by greedy men-on no-this Anti-Swedish war had been boiling up for years.

It was a coalition, a back handed slap to the Golden Age that Sweden had been living and thriving in. It was a stake driven through the entire country. And it all started with three nations who decided they had had enough of the lions yellow and blue banner-they had had enough of Swedish Pride and Swedish wealth and Swedish domination. They had had enough and decided to do something about it-in the cruelest way possible. By betraying Sweden from within and slowly churning it into chaos.

Tino clutched Peter to his lap more firmly, remembering how the towns bells had wrung like a mad screaming chorus of alarm. How the printing shops had all busied themselves with inks and parchment to produce words on paper that all but declared that Swedish law, Swedish rule was under attack and that Charles XII of Sweden, a King of fourteen years old, would do everything in his power to crush the opposition down.

But, Tino thought with a heavy sense of annoyance-what was a fourteen year old Swedish King could to do in this crossfire? The nations had attacked Sweden precisely because of the weak king!

Russia, Denmark and Saxony-Poland were declared enemies of the Swedish state.

These three countries had a stated belief that Sweden's time had come to an end-that a King who was but a child could not hold the golden reigns of what the country once was-it was time to extinguish the torches of the Swedes. Tino grimaced. And that first torch, was right where Tino and Peter were standing.

Tino had never down anyone any harm in this world. He was a simple farmer on a two acre plot of land. He grew cabbages and sold them at market, saving a bit of money to feed himself and the little babe named Peter who came to him on his doorstep those long years ago. He paid his taxes, minded his manners in the pretense of the Swedish nobles, went to church on every Sunday, and he even did his good deed of keeping his damned mouth shut when all he wanted to do was kick every sorry powdered wig of Swedish ranking off the young Swedish Kings little head and give him a what for!

Tino grumbled and shook with anger, hating himself for ever being born here in this stupid province.

The little cottage was all the two had, the little field that barely did any good to produce food and profit had long since gone sour with useless soil. Yet this was home. And his home was quickly being invaded. The Danes had set their eyes on the fortress of Tönning.* which was dangerously close to Tino's little cottage. It was a siege of sorts, the Danish-Norwegian troops of 20,000 men strong using all their damned might to light a fire under the Swedish crown-and so far that fire was roaring and burning very nicely. Tino had heard that the Danes wanted to remove the Swedish troops from the Duchy of Holstien-Gottorp, but were so far having a hard time getting through the Swedish Calvary-but all that seemed to be a lie now, when every day Tino and Peter would hear the guns clap with might and the withered shouts of men and the cries of bleating horses left dying on a red field.

Only time will tell, thought Tino as another rapturous shake caused dust to fly from the rafters of the small hovel-the wooden floors creaking with a mocking sound that made Peter sniffle and cry even more.

"Shhh, Shh, Baby, it's okay-it's okay. They'll stop soon. They'll stop soon…" Tino murmured into the childs hair. They have to stop soon. They just have to. But even that Tino knew, was a lie. It would never stop. Never.

Peter didn't seem to take any comfort in his Pappa's words, as he merely scowled like children do and huff-trying to seem like a big boy who wasn't afraid of any 'ol cannons or guns. He was Peter Väinämöinen. Nothing scared him! Not thunder, not bears, nor even those funny looking Danish soldiers with their silly coats and ugly horses. No, nothing could scare him, the little child declared within his head, his tears drying bit by bit.

Nothing in the world.

Ayooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnn!

Peter's eyes grew wide as his shoulders sunk backward into the arms of his father once more. The child clenched his teeth together till they groaned with agony, his hands wired into Tino's vest.

Nothing except that. That. What was that?

Tino seemed to hear it and at once became quiet alarmed, his hands drawing Peter behind him and into the small little crevice that the small little dresser made once pressed against the walls and their corners.

"Pappa….?" Peter whispered like Tino instructed him to. Never talk too loudly, never sigh too loudly, never breathe too loudly. For they might burst in and kill you.

"Yes Baby, I heard it too." Tino assured the child, his own voice bordering on a wispy crackle. Tino's eyes grew white at their edges, like a rolling horses, whose about to bolt into the mist.

It wasn't the heavy clicking of muskets, the blasts of canons nor the shouts of feverishly dying men….It was…A crooning…A bellowing of sorts that seemed to be from an animal.

Tino sat himself up slightly from where he and Peter sat huddled near the upturned mattress of their hay stuffed bed. Tino's back grated against the dressers scraggly doors, the brass knobs creating an unpleasant bruising on his spine, but still, slowly, and with much pain he crawled to the right of him, fumbling around in the pleasant yet crafty darkness of the night till he came upon the stocky legs of a small table.

Tino, his hands quaking, reached round his small nightstand numbly till he found a little candle holder, the waxy bulb of it stuffed with an almost dead candle, the wick having been twisted off slightly-left gnarled and ugly looking.

Tino frowned at the little candle before he, searching his vest pocked for a match, produced a small little box with stale little pieces of wood-he only prayed that they would still light-Lord knows they must be months old from when they could…Buy matches and their bread too…No they didn't even have the luxury for food. Such help was the Swedish Crown to them he thought for a moment of bitterness.

Yet soon he clutched one of the little stubbles with his thumb and wracked it over the bottom of his shoe, creating a foul stench of smoke as the little stick went up in flame. Then, with hands cupped over the precious little light, he brought it to the wick to let it catch. It did, quivering and filmy, it glanced the room with a shadowy grace of light, making Tino smile despite himself. Maybe the world wouldn't be so cruel to them after all.

"Pappa, Pappa, what're you doin'?" The little impish voice of Peter sounded into the room. The child was rubbing his red rimmed eyes and clutching to an old woolen blanket that had a few threads out of place. Tino smiled kindly to the child, not wishing to alarm him and he placed the candle holder on the night stand.

"I'm going to see what the noise was outside, my little lion cub. Perhaps the pesky old raccoons have gotten into a bit of the chicken feed." Tino mumbled, hoping that his son would be content with Tino's words and let the Finn tend to the noise.

Peter, sniffling his nose and wiping it with the back of his hands, only nodded solemnly and snuggled back into the blankets.

"But be careful Papa! Come back soon or I'll never forgive you!" Peter warned with a bit of terrified spite. He didn't want his Pappa to leave but… If he must then he must. Tino was only a child. He would wait here like a good brave boy until Pappa came back safe and well. You'll see Peter, you're just being silly. Pappa'll come back, you'll see. Peter all but told himself as he clutched at his hands under the blanket.

Tino smiled sweetly down at the little child and brought him up into his arms for a soft kiss across his temple, making the shivering child calm down some. Then, with a few more sweetened words, Tino tucked Peter into the lumpy hay filled mattress that had been dragged onto the floor and set the seven year old into the wooden bed frame, tucking quilts around his body to keep him warm and give him the desperate illusion of safely that the child seemed to feverishly require.

"I'll be back Peter-keep safe inside the house-If I see you outside or near the window I'll tan you!" Tino warned softly, the boy underneath the blankets nodding his head, his eyes wide eyed, not wanting to be punished for misbehaving.

After Tino felt that the boy would not disobey and get himself into mischief, the Finn, holding the little candles flame in his hands, made his way through the thin bedroom door to shuffle in the mute darkness towards the living and kitchen room.

Placing the candle on the small dinner table near the corner of the petite room, Tino fumbled his hands over the latch of the front door, the heavy wooden frame causing him some trouble before he, at last, got the bolt to open freely-allowing him to open the door and leave the small safety of the house into the obsidian darkness that would soon swallow him.

Outside smelled like dust and death. The sulfuric and metallic taste of gunpowder bit into the Finn's senses and made him cringe. The sky was smoky, the cool spring breezes causing the wind to carry the smoke powder over and a ways through the forest that skirted along the area. It was like a swirl of incense that dragged its way over the Finn's body, making him feel rather calm when he should be twanged and wound up with anxiousness and fear.

The lone fence that used to house Tino's four milking goats swung open eerily in the nights blackness like a warning of what had already been lost. The Goats had long been gone for weeks-having been taken by a group of soldiers for the war effort to feed the soldiers. Tins of tobacco, bottles of milk in the ice box, pickled cucumbers and licorice root, salted pork-it had all be taken by the soldiers. Everything went to the war effort. Everything. Including Tino's very sanity.

And so the Finn lost most of his cabbage crop after it was picked clean to feed the hungry Swedish soldiers who ate it with licking fingers and dirty faces all smiling as they bit into the lettuce and piled it high into watery stews and packed it thick into the backs of their wagons. His four goats had been slaughtered right in front of him, their white bellies fattened with milk and a kid or two, carried on spits dripping blood. Such as waste of life it was.

Tino closed his eyes, focusing on the hissing of the night insects.

Uwhuuuuuu….Unnnuggggghhh….

Tino's eyes opened wide in a flash, his ears hearing the crooning noises again. Those animalistic bleats that sounded much to Tino's surprise like a big great horse.

Tino, his breath catching in his throat, followed the source of the noise, the candles waxy wick causing smoke to sting his eyes. The smoke from a candle is better than the smoke from smoldering bodies. Tino decided with a sick sense of comfort that surprised even himself.

The Finn's legs carried him fumbling over the dregs of upturned earth that, until half his crop had been taken, would have been used to plant the heads of more cabbage with thick juicy leaves that collected dew in the night and sun in the morning. Tino scowled bitterly, hating this stupid war more than anything in his life.

He was just about to climb over a rotten log on his property, the shell of the tree part way chopped in half to use for firewood when the weather got nippy, when he heard the noise again, only this time it was more breathless, more shrill. More in pain.

It was definitely a horse.

Tino ran swiftly into the direction of the suffering animal, for surely it must be suffering if it made such pained bleating noises?

He stumbled blindly his hands trying desperately to keep the candle going, the rush of speed by his legs making it difficult as the light flickered and threatened to go out, but still Tino, throat icy from the cold, kept his pace.

Over stiff wooden fences he climbed and through gopher holes he treded until he saw a lone dark shadow limping and shuffling around in tight circles near a few clumps of broken down aspen saplings. The huge animal seemed to not pay attention to the awestruck Finn, as the beast was too busy chomping on a bit of iron and making the most heart wrenching noises Tino had ever heard.

The thing was coal black-or maybe that was due to the nights trickery of color-with a single stripe of white that started at the beasts forehead and drew silently all the way down to his muzzle which was humming with steam.

White foam and froth was coated along the animals sides to give it a sickening look of white-as if the ebony colored horse was part way to hell and heaven, white and black. Its saddle stirrups were tangled beyond belief-one slung all the way over the leather saddle, the other left lifeless near the animals girth, the cinch belt seeming to be wound too tight to even let the thing breathe properly.

Though the Finn could barely see into the darkness of the night, he could hear the thing humming and coughing, hacking on its own spit as its head was drawn to the floor-it looked broken more than it looked alive. It reminded Tino of himself in a way-surviving yet barely, and only wanting death but never receiving it. Tino sighed with the heavy weight of sadness that pushed down upon his heart.

He wanted to save the thing, wanted to tend to the poor beast that was undoubtedly a Calvary mans horse. Tino could spy the rough saddle blanket that was twisted on the horses sweat drenched body. It was red and yellow and smelled of mud and sweat, its stench making Tino scrunch his nose up involuntarily. Tino then, with curious movements, placed the candle on a small nearby rocky path-glancing back up at the horse that must have been fifteen hands tall, all muscle with thin legs yet powerful haunches and body.

Tino, with his hands splayed wide, cautiously began to walk towards the great hulking thing, the animals ears pricking up, but its head still down in the dust, it's eyes softened and almost dead looking. Tino furrowed his brows at the sight of the poor thing.

The horse made a small quivering noise as the Finn, close enough to touch the breast of the beast, made a small clicking noise with his tongue to coax the animal into lifting his undoubtedly tired head.

The horse simply stood still while Tino brushed his fingers over the horses frock, the animals head bent low to the ground, making Tino have to bend down along with the thing-a movement he was admittingly a bit anxious about, as the horse could buck from panic and trample him.

But somehow he trusted this horse, and he only hoped the horse trusted him as well.

The bridle was torn at the throat latch and the horse had shavings of scars pink with burns all along it's large sweet looking head. It's hair was wet and matted-either with dew or blood, Tino wasn't sure. How long have you been out here? Tino wondered to himself as he squatted to the right of the horse, placing his warm hands on the front leg of the animal, clicking his tongue to lift up one leg, rolling it to a fro to check for any unseen damage.

The animal was quiet as Tino prodded and checked for injuries, finding bloodied knees and slashes of wounds that looked to have been made by the metal pike of a weapon or the slashing of a thin saber. Tino hummed sorely as he felt his way to the horses saddle, the cinch pinching into the horses stomach, making the thing wheeze as Tino tried to loosen it.

"Hold still now, in a minute you'll be free…" Tino promised the black horse as he began to work on the strap, only slightly feeling the horse shake as the Finn busied himself.

Tino was about to pull the leather though the cinch loop to slide off the saddle when from far off a canon sounded and the horse, its eyes growing white as the silken moon above, made a rolling shriek and bucked forward, knocking Tino down and dragging something past him-a tree branch perhaps, still connected to the horses halter rope or stirrups. Yet the saddle that was before tightly upon the horse lurched off the sweat drenched body of the beast as the animal limped into the darkness a few feet away with crooked legs and a swinging head in small fits of madness.

"Skit!"* something groaned into that solid cold darkness a little ways away from where Tino had landed from the fall.

Tino felt his heart stop dead in its murderous beating as his brain registered the noise, the sound of a human voice-the sound of a man-the sound of a Swede.

….


	2. Chapter 2

Here is chapter two! Hope you enjoy it! I'd like to thank my beautiful translators- MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, koolionbutterflyhahaha, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99, and Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. Much love to you guys! So sit back and enjoy, Dala Horse, chapter two! I suggest listening to the 1994 Black Beauty Movie Soundtrack while reading!

…

Tino couldn't control it. He just could not control the half scream-half shriek that escaped his lungs and flew up into the air like an ugly black bird being let free from it's prison. He screamed his little head off in a none too manly fashion but he damned well didn't care because he was laying in a patch of dirt with his bum to the floor, with horse sweat on his hands and a Swedish soldier not but a few feet away from him.

Before could clench his teeth shut to stop the damnable scream once again from erupting out his throat he felt something rough and warm slide over his mouth and press firmly down against his lips. A hand. He was being suffocated by a hand.

Tino let out another muffled cry as he kicked back at his capturer, his eyes rolling and his feet jostling themselves into the air as he felt more weight exerted on him. It was at that moment that he realized that the Swedish soldier was probably pinning his body down because he thought he was a Danish soldier! An enemy! Tino's eyes welled into tears as he fought harder for escape, for air, to try and state his claim that he was a Finn! A Finn! A subject of the Swedish crown! I'm not your enemy!

"Ah, fer' Heaven's sake, not gunna' suffocate ya'-yer just too loud is all." Came a grumbled voice that must have belonged to the Swede because Tino sure as hell knew that was not Danish being spoken.

Tino thrashed even more, wanting escape and wanting it now. He could feel his vest tangle and burrow into the dirt under him as he tried to kick his feet up like a bucking horse bent on freedom and nothing else.

"Shh, Shh now, calm down! If ya' quit movin' and stay quiet I'll release m' hand-okej?"* That same voice said with a sort of pleading into the darkness. Tino felt his eyes squint into the night as he stopped thrashing so much, now only wiggling like a caught snake being dragged up from his burrow. He still fought, but only less, the lack of food and sleep in his body seeming to ware down upon him like a heavy slate of rock.

"See now, wasn't so hard. Alright, I'll let ya' go now." The voice said softly, and, like promised, those big hands that smelled like leather oil and earth were removed from the Finn's mouth. The elbow that was slung across Tino's rib cage was also tucked away and, with much effort, Tino saw the huge shape of the man crawl backward like a wounded cat to give the Finn some much needed space.

Tino, taking some precious time to catch his breath decided to weigh his options. If he ran away right now he would more than likely be shot for abandoning a Swedish solider when he could have taken him in. Yet if he did take him in, what would he feed him? Dust and dirt? They had barely nothing, not even a crumb! Every night for the past week Tino had been going without supper while he gave the meager scraps that they did have to Peter. The boy was more precious to Tino than his own life-he could not invite another mouth to feed-not when things were already this strained.

But…

It was more than likely that this Swedish Calvary man had a gun. And with a gun came authority. If Tino ran right now to the safely of his cottage through the deserted fields, what's to stop the man from pulling the trigger and letting a whole flew of power and smoke burst through Tino's body like a heated tone of glass? Tino shivered. No, he had to stay alive for Peter. He would have to let this soldier into his house. Starving was a more dignified way of dying than being shot in the back. He growled bitterly to himself.

"Are you a soldier?" Tino asked softly, not moving from his spot, no further to the soldier, no farther away.

The black shadowed figure seemed to ponder this as he hunched over in the wet earth that had been nourished the day before by springs lovely rains.

"I'm…I'm a mercenary. I am Swedish but-I'm hired strength if anythin' else." He mumbled a bit tiredly, as if he was stepping on egg shells with his words, as if he was a bit ashamed of his title and worth.

Tino quirked his eyes brows up, his breathing speeding back to normal as his heat began to slow its pace.

"A Mercenary in the Calvary?" Tino asked with bewilderment.

The figure huffed out a bit of cold misty air, Tino watching as his hands clutched his sides-the smell of iron catching in the Finn's nostrils, making him stir with fear. Blood.

"Aye, a bit silly don'tcha' know… I guess 'm a coward fer wanting tah' be paid fer my life when I should be givin' it up freely fer loyalty to Sister Sweden." He said bitterly yet almost sadly-as if he was telling an old friend his worth and he trusted the weight of his words to reach said friend.

Tino shook his head. This Swede should not have such a soft voice to the Finn, to a man who could be friend or foe. Tino was not this mans friend. And he hoped he never would be.

"If you are a mercenary-" Tino was about to say but suddenly stopped as the figure leaned back on his elbows and moved a bit in the earth, like a great big cat rolling around on the floor for a dust bath.

"Don't worry. Won't tell anyone that yer' out here. I know what the war does for people-nothin'. It takes and takes and nothin' else. Keep m' mouth shut." The man seemed run his fingers through his mouth as if sealing them with imaginary cement before Tino could see that he was smiling, the moon leaving a glint of white on those perfect teeth. Tino felt himself blush for an odd reason.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"Course I'll be wantin' somethin' in return fer' a promise kept." The man's voice crackled oddly with the hint of a small smile, making Tino's heart lurch forward and his brows furrow in fear.

"I have nothing to give you-my crops are bare, my animals all taken and eaten by your brethren. I have not many possessions, only a bit of coins…

"I don't want yer' livelihood." The man simply stated as he dragged is knees downward to sit up into the cool moonlight, his body showing itself like a tall pillar of a shadow that made Tino realize just how large the man must be, and therefore dangerous. Better give him what he wants…. Tino thought quiet desperately in his head.

"What is it that will require you to keep my cottage a secret from the war? To keep me safe?" Tino asked almost bitterly-expecting the man to request some outlandish price for a promise, such as his farm when the war was through, his land handed over, or himself as an indentured servant left to scrub tables and tend to goats.

"I wish 'tah share this secret with ya'. Together."

"What?" Tino hissed into the night air as he drew himself up, his breeches wet and dirty and his face red with anger and a bit of something else.

"I want at live with ya'-till th' war is over at least. I'm injured an' I need a place tah' stay…" He reasoned quiet smoothly, only his accent marling the words slightly.

Tino shook his head, only then realizing that the giant of a Swede probably could not make out the dismissive gesture in such darkness.

"No, absolutely not. I have nothing to feed you, nothing to dress you in, you would be a nuisance in your state! And heaven forbid the rest of the cavalry should find you! A Finn harboring a runaway Swedish soldier! It would mean my neck in a noose!"

"I am a mercenary. There is a' difference." The man retorted back simply as he too began to stand up, his bones creaking and his mouth flinching slightly as a hiss escaped his dry lips.

"The difference is small and could still mean my death. I shall not have such a threat looming over my head, no thank you!"

"I will pay you."

"In what? You fool! You have become injured from the military when the Danes have just invaded! You have no money to your name from what I can see-your horse is lame and no good in payment and you stink to high heaven with your dirtiness!" Tino scolded, feeling quiet well and empowered by yelling at this man, this Swede. Oh how he hated them and their ways how they took and took and defended useless land that was not ever there's to begin with!

The man seemed to pause after the Finn's rant to sniff at his shoulder before swinging his head away-Tino could almost see the mans eyes squint, those eyes that for now had been covered by the night but now glowed a sharp jade-like blue. Tino shivered, realizing that those eyes scared him.

"Ah, but I can pay ya'. If I give ya' a months supply a' food, will ya' let m' stay in yer cottage 'til m' health is restored?" The words were forced with hope and a bit of childish pleading, the man seeming to have never spoken for so long in his life as he began to fidget and his voice began to grow hoarse.

Tino rolled his eyes, trying desperately to feel no sympathy for this wounded man.

"Alright. Provide me with a months supply of food and you can very well stay here till the war is over!" He snapped disbelievingly.

Though the Finn couldn't see it, the Swede seemed to nod and smile grimly. Making a gruff grumble through his lips he staggered a ways away through the small gnarled twisted of the aspens, Tino following him right along, stringing insults and calling the Swedes' bluff of a promise of food. He was like a yapping white little dog at the Swede's heels.

"It is not right to lie to other people-there is no way you can provide such an amount of food! You lie, and I know it!" The Finn mumbled under his breath as the Swede in front of him, hobbled and smelling dank and wet from his opened wounds only made another mumbled of a noise before the Finn realized they were no longer alone.

Laying beneath the tangles of grass and rock was the horse from before. The animal was now on its side, its large belly rounded and heavy, the sweat and foam of white looking like that from ice-covering the things neck and sides. The horse lifted its head tiredly before, with a dismissive gesture, brought it down again to lay upon the wet dewed grass with a dulled thud.

The horse let out another sad sounding bleat before it hacked on its own breath and went back to mourning, its eyes flickering shut before opening again.

"What…What are you doing?" Tino asked quickly, his voice sounding shrill in the silence of the night, the muskets seeming to have been content to leave the two men in silence for a while.

"Holdin' up m' end a' th' bargain." The Swede replied rather sadly as he made his way over to the animals head, the horses muzzle working twice as hard to collect air for the poor thing to breathe.

"Wait-what? What do you mean-you can't! You can't!" Tino suddenly screamed, lurching for the shape of the man as he heard the rustle of leather and the unmistakable clink of a gun being released into the night.

The glint of a pistol shone though the black pit of the stars as the Finn's eyes grew wide and tears flew from his eyes as the horse below them neighed softly, sounding like a young colt once more, calling for her mother.

"It's a mercy killin', she's in pain… She'll provide some meat once this is all over…" The Calvary man tried to calm the Finn down with his words but Tino would not have it and instead tried to hit the gun away from the mans hands.

But the Soldier merely held the Finn with his left arm, pressing the Finn into his dirty uniform as he gritted his teeth.

Tino was about to cy out once more when he heard it, the shot of the pistol, the solitary shot that rang out into the air to join the other restless shots of muskets. That insignificant noise that no one else could hear, could care about. That once simple noise that would be followed by the tears of a Finn, the regret of a Swede, and the start of a little beautiful thing-called a Dala Horse.

…..

OH MY GODS HE SHOT THE HORSE! Yeah. I'm an asshole. I know.

Authors Notes:

-"Shh, Shh now, calm down! If ya' quit movin' and stay quiet I'll release m' hand-okej?"* - "Okej" means "Okay" in Swedish.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello and Welcome! Here for your entertainment-Dala Horse chapter three! I'd like to thank my lovely translators, MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99, and Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. Thank you very much guys! I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters-though I do own this story! I suggest listening to "Gröne Lunden" by Omnia for this story.

…

Tino wiped the snot that was running down his red nose with his bared wrist-the sweat from his face and what was surely tears mixed with the crumpled dust that had been sprayed over him, left him muddy, sweaty, snotty and crying. But he didn't care. He wouldn't care.

The ebony colored animal-as black as night with the exception of the stripe along it's muddied forehead-had died without a sound-no breath to have escaped from the things tired lungs, as if the animal knew it was to be sent away from this world and so prepared for it by sucking in it's breath tight and exhaling right before the shot rang through.

Tino wiped his eyes for the first time since they had stung warm and red-he swallowed thickly in his throat and turned his back on the man that was with him, who stood just as hovelled and sorely as the Finn-if not a bit more.

"'M Sorry-it had ta' be done…" The Swedish Soldier-Tino scowled low in his throat-no, the Swedish Mercenary-mumbled. Tino sneered, choosing anger as his remedy poison for the situation. Better to be mad than wailing your head off because a dying animal had to be killed. It was a mercy killing. Tino smiled bitterly. Mercy killing from a Mercenary. How nice.

"You will leave the horse here-the night air should keep it cold and unspoiled till early morning-I will expect you to pick it lean like a vulture-bring the strips of meat into the house, I'll salt them and roast some for our meal tomorrow." Tino instructed in a flat toned voice that did it's absolute very best to sound motionless-even, unaffected by any emotion whatsoever-especially sadness. No, he had too much sadness in his heart-it was time to be rid of the whole dreaded lot within him.

The man who would, it seemed, be in Tino's company for a while, simply nodded in understanding as he picked himself up off the ground and stood to his tall lofty height that still put Tino into an uneasy state.

"Follow me, Mercenary, your…payment, how ever displeasing to my taste, will be accepted. You are lucky I and my son are in need of food so badly, for else I would have contented myself leave you to the company of your fallen comrade out here in the cold." Tino spoke harshly into the now turning chilly night, as he patted his vest to be rid of the accumulated dirt from his previous stumble.

The Mercenary, though his face could barely be seen through the canopy of aspen and fir, tried his best to not seem sadden by the Finn's words, laden with spite they were.

Instead, the Swede decided to pry-to learn as much s he could from his rescuer, his savior who seemed to detest him till his last breath-perhaps the mercenary could lighten this Finn's heart and gain his respect, oh the jade eyed man could only hope.

"A son-you are a father? You have a wife?" The Swedish soldier spoke his words with care, with ease as he gently prodded into the Finnish mans life, in a personal quest to learn more, to seek more.

Tino scoffed, running his hands over his arms to keep of the cold. The two began to pick over mounds of soil that had been unearthed by a wobbly plow many days ago-when Tino still had a field worth plowing.

"Aye, I have a son. A lovely little boy. He was dropped off at my door when he was just a babe-I raised him on my own-no wife or mistress." Tino mumbled, his feet sinking deep into the soil that smelled rich and musty, a wonderful smell it was-did well to calm him down.

"'M sorry ta' hear that-'bout you bein' alone 'an all. 'S hard to raise children in these times-M' Mamma had a hard time rasin' me 'an m' brothers-no bread on th' table…" The Swede mumbled as he followed Tino out of the crumbling field left bare and scraggily.

"I do not want your pity." Tino merely spoke, his voice betraying it's once cold demur to flash with red anger.

The stranger sighed with defeat and followed his new landlord to the small cottage that could only barely be described as a shack of stone, straw and mason.

The night hung low upon the two as-the humming of the canons in the distant quieted-Tino rapped his knuckles upon the flimsy door of the cottage.

"Peter-Peter, it is Pappa… Open the door, Peter." Tino pressed his forehead to the door and breathed out through his nose before inhaling the musty scent of the pine planks that held the door together. He would be lying to himself if he thought telling Peter the truth of the oncoming matter would be easy. Peter would more than likely throw a fit-or jump around with glee at the opportunity of company-of another person in the house to talk to. Tino was hoping for the former reaction more than the latter.

Soon scuttling was heard from inside the cottage as bolts were unlocked, blocks of wood creaked about and the tapping of chains lifted from the locks became undone as the door slowly cracked open.

A corn-flower blue eye peered through the yellow lighted crack in the door-little blonde eyelashes dotting the sweet and curious eyes as tiny little hands pushed open the door, letting it swing softly, slowly.

"Peter, baby," Tino whispered to his son whose mouth had begun to open as wide as the moon, "We have company."

…

Oh was Peter delighted-Tino should have guessed as much.

After Tino had-as politely as his pride would let him-introduced little Peter to their new house guest, Peter hadn't kept his mouth shut-the excited child practically forgot to take breathes of air between words as he clamored over gibberish and exclamations of awe at being introduced to a Mercenary-a warrior as the young child dubbed him.

Tino rolled his eyes, finding the title of the Swedish stranger a bit too romanticized and all together a bit silly. So the man carried a musket and played target practice with a few Danish soldiers-big bloody deal.

But, Peter, who could not be blamed for such antics, continued on his ministrations and long asked questions of the blonde and jade eyed man whom Tino set to sit on a stool while he got a kettle of water boiling in the hearth.

"Now, Peter, he is wounded and probably so tired from fighting all day and…shooting things in the dark," Tino spoke bitterly, "let him rest! Be a good boy and fetch some blankets and make ready a bed! Hurry now!" Tino shooed the little sandy-blonde boy off, playfully pinching the childs cheeks making him pout and mumble. Tino only smiled fondly after his son before busying himself with cutting strips of old linen into bandages.

Damn Swede was already causing Tino to ruin what little cloth and sheets he had, not to mention he was already making best friends with his only child-bloody Swedish crown and all it's loyalties.

"He's a good kid-smart lad, with all 'is questions 'an such." Berwald commented softly, trying to dispel the glare from his face as he eased Tino into nice and easy conversation.

Tino would have none of it.

"Aye-he's a good boy. Touch one hair on his head and I'll cart you off in a wheel-barrel in pieces." Tino said with a flat toned voice as shallow and sleek as a lazy ponds surface.

Berwald pressed his eyebrows down in nervousness as he assured Tino, with absolute truth, that he wouldn't dream of harming such a bright and happy child.

To which Tino only mumbled and continued his feverish cutting, looking out of the small kitchen window that let in the twinkling lights of the stars. How he wished to be one of them-a constellation-perhaps the Bear, the bear was a strong animal-and Peter could be with him up in the sky as well as the little bear. Oh if only it were that simple to disappear from here.

"Names Berwald by th' way…" Berwald hummed, his low voice sounding as quiet and dark as the nights of winter well into December. Tino couldn't help but take a liking to the voice-even if he very well greatly disliked the person it belonged to. Emotions, such a tricky thing, even Tino himself couldn't escape from their twisting teases.

"Tino. My name is Tino." The Finn mumbled for politeness sake. He was brought up a good Christian man by his Mamma-he could show a sweet tongue and a few nice words when the mood struck him.

"T'no. Ti-Tino. Nice name, good simple Finnish name…" Berwald hummed with contentment, trying to flatter the Finn, compliment him where compliments were deserved.

"That's me, a good simple Finnish man." Tino mumbled dryly as, with a wicker bowl filled with strips of cloth he walked over to Berwald and laid them at the Swede's feet before, by the dim light from the hearth fire, he went back to collect the kettle of water that had begun to steam.

"Oh-Oh I din' mean ta' insult ya'-Tino, 's a good name! A lovely name, not simple at all-fierce name!" The man tried again, stumbling over his words so badly that he soon became tongue tied, leaving Tino to giggle slightly against his own best interest. Damn Swedish men and their charming accents, Tino cursed.

"Ya'-Ya' laughed." Berwald's voice lifted, a genuine smile upon his lips-though with much effort it must have taken none the less-his eyes too sparkled with merriment.

"So I did." Tino state simply, a soft, smile making it's quick and hasty appearance on his lips before being stubbornly wiped away by the Finn's better judgment.

"Ya' look so nice when ya' laugh, happy too." Berwald commented gently, his eyes blinking as he squinted in the low light.

Tino said nothing for a few quiet seconds, thankful for the little light in the room, for he really had no want to explain why his pulse had suddenly quickened and his face grew just a tad bit pink. Thank goodness for the lack of light, thank goodness.

"Thank you, Berwald," Tino allowed himself to say before he cleared his throat and resumed his pace, walking back to the Swede's side he set the hot kettle on the dirt floor-the copper metal hissing and steaming as it came in contact with the slightly damp chilled soil.

Berwald only hummed after that, his eyes softer yet still sharp with interest, with knowledge-with an ability to read people when he was often the hardest to read by others.

Berwald wanted to be able to read this man, this violet eyed Finn who, though he had blatantly spoke of his distrust, his anger towards the Swedish crown, was helping a lone Mercenary who was without a home and horse. Who out of the goodness of his God given heart was opening up-was, hell, even laughing and on occasion letting a smile slip.

Oh yes, Berwald wanted to understand this fellow with the straw colored hair and the small almost unrecognizable smile. He wanted to know with all his heart, because he knew this young man, no matter how angry he appeared to be, was so innocent and sweet-he wouldn't hurt a fly.

…

It didn't take long till Berwald was howling in pain and screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs.

"Honestly! You pride yourself as a mercenary and here you are-crying up a storm like a scullery maid who slipped and fell into a patch of thistles!" Tino scolded the bigger man as he began to tend to the upper arm wounds of the giant.

Berwald hissed through his teeth and bit down hard on his bottom lip to suppress another wail of pain.

"Believe me-I'd take th' thistle patch any day o'er this!" He groaned as Tino gently pressed another ball of whiskey soaked cotton to the thin gashes-some of them from trees switches, some from scuffles-other deeper, thinner-ones from rapiers. Tino frowned as he looked onward at the pinkish scars-some still vibrant and red like the glossy color from a red apple. This mans flesh was in some sorry state.

"You must hold still now!" Tino grumbled at the Swede twitched and shifted into his seat upon the three legged stool that was too low for his body so that his long gangly legs (which Peter commented affectionately were like Daddy-long-leg spider legs) were jutted outward at what must have been an increasingly aching position.

It didn't help either that the little cottages cupboards had a low selection of alcohol to use as disinfectant. Tino had gladly offered to use some of his home made distilled vodka for the Swedes' wounds, to which Berwald assured the Finn that he'd rather not have something so flammable near his vital organs and wounds.

After a few more dabs' of whiskey on an especially trickily deep wound Tino decided that stitches would have to be administered if the Swede wanted to not wake up one morning with a rotted off limb, to which Berwald whined and cursed softly in Swedish before giving Tino the right away if need be.

And after a good ten minutes of thrashing and biting and growling and swearing-to which Tino would always hit Berwald on the knee, reminding him that they were in the presence of a child- the little needle and thread that Tino had expertly used to close the minor wound shut was put away.

But, Tino warned, the wound could still fester so they had to keep a mighty good eye on it just in case.

To which Berwald only grumbled and nodded, his arm hurting him something awful and he could only glare accidentally in sullen spite.

"Well, now that you're left arm is done we can get on with the rest of your wounds." Tino hummed softly, wiping his hands on his trousers as he and Peter began the next soaking of rags for the rest of the Swede.

Berwald could only sigh through his teeth and remind himself to be thankful no matter how painful Tino was (He thought intentionally) making this procedure to be.

So, with rather reluctant fingers, Berwald began to fiddle with his coat and work with the yellow and blue rolled up sleeves till, with gentle care and hisses and growls, he got the cavalry jacket off without doing too much damage to his raw skin.

After that came the vest which was, like the coat, dry and red with caked blood. It smelled foul just from where Tino was sitting, Berwald could see it on his scrunched up face.

But, the Finn, by some shred of graciousness, did not comment on the sorry state of the Swede and instead helped him off with the undershirt till Berwald's battered and bruised body appeared dully and filthily dusty against the smoky light of the hearth.

Tino frowned, eyeing the worst of the problem.

Near the right hip of the Swede was a molten patch of a bruise that, in the middle had been bled open by the end of a pike of sorts-no bullet hole thankfully, but it didn't make the wound look any less nasty.

"Peter, honey. This might take a while-why don't you tuck yourself in bed…" Tino mumbled to Peter who had been fixated on the soldiers lashed body with disturbed awe.

"But Pappa-" Peter was about to argue when Tino cut him off swiftly.

"No, Peter. Go get yourself the last crust of bread in the bread box and get straight to bed! Pappa will be there to say goodnight to you later." Tino turned his head to glace a stern warning at Peter who, by the tone in his Pappa's voice decided it wasn't worth the argue and, begrudgingly, stood himself up and, with dramatic movements set himself to the bread box then his room.

"'S that bad, huh?" Berwald commented softly after Peter had left to go into some room without a door-what Berwald guessed was the bedroom.

"You'll live. It's just a lot of blood is all. You'll be sore and bed ridden for a week or two-three if it crusts over. But you'll live, probably…" Tino mumbled, not even looking Berwald in the eye as his thin and skilled fingers worked with padding away at the Swede's pale flesh tenderly till the rag came back red.

Berwald's eyes lit up with nervousness at the Finn's words.

"Probably?" Berwald repeated the Finn, his voice dredged with disbelief.

Tino only smiled softly, the inklings of a chuckle in the back of his throat.

"The Swede cannot take a joke?" Tino tilted his head to the side to curl his lips upward, causing the fear in Berwald's face to disappear as he sighed with relief.

"Oh you tricky Finn, you think yer' clever." Berwald mused, his mind trying to relieve the tension that his body felt as the Finn's clothed hands worked deeper and deeper around the wound till the cloth not only came back red, but sticky as well.

"Oh, fettered Swede, I know I am clever!" Tino hummed with laughing eyes as he pulled the cloth back to its place on a slab of wood and got to work dressing the wound with a bit of crushed slippery Elm bark mixed with a concoction of sweet smelling honey and water to ease and aid in the healing process.

The mixture was cold and sticky as it was slathered along the open wound of the Swede, but he bit his tongue and minded his cries of pain as the two were quite sure Peter was fast asleep and would more than likely not like to be woken up from sleep by howls and shouts of pain.

After an hour later, the fire reduced to embers, the Swede was finally cleaned as well as he would ever be and each cut, wound, or scrap that was in need of attention was given and wrapped up neatly by Tino's excellent handy-work.

"How do you know how to dress wounds so well, clever Finn?" Berwald asked Tino with interest and a bit of teasing in his voice as he fiddled with a borrowed tunic that Tino had been kind enough to lend him-though the Finn was a bit bitter about it, knowing the Swede would burst the stitches of the shirt open, seeing as how Berwald was as big as a damned ox.

Dumb big Swede the Finn had said.

Tino sighed and placed the last of the dirtied bandages in a pale of cold water to be rid of the blood and to be reused later in the morning.

"When you live so close to war, and the possibility of being hurt is great and with a child who doesn't mind his way and often scrapes his knees-one must always be well rehearsed in matters of healing." Tino sighed wearily as he rubbed the back of his neck in a frustrated and tired gesture, his eyes darting over to the small room that Peter had disappeared to not so long ago.

"Ah…Yer' right, sorry fer' askin'." Berwald mumbled, his eyes too becoming more sleepy, his shoulders heavy and aching, as Tino very well warned him they would be. Yet Berwald still tried to keep his face calm-in the hopes that it wouldn't end up in one of his many vicious glares that he tends to obtain by no reason. Best not to scare the little Finn who had given him so much hospitality.

Tino waved his hand in the air with decisiveness.

"Do not worry about it. I'm glad my healing abilities became of use. Though I hate to admit it now-saving your sorry looking self from being eaten by wolves or gunned down by a Dane was, well, not such a bad thing after all. Plus I have food to fill my childs belly with-so that is something to be thankful for." Tino spoke to himself as he showed Berwald to a small little mattress that had been filled plump with extra hay for added comfort and was covered softly with an array of blankets curtsey of Peter (Peter having only picked the brightest and color fullest ones they had-telling his Pappa that he knew for a fact that Berwald would like the reds, greens, and browns).

Berwald thanked the Finn silently and slipped his sorry and aching body deep into the covers nice and snug, a rolled up woolen blanket for his pillow.

Yet before the Finn left the small dark room that housed the Swedish Cavalry-Mercenary, Berwald had one simple question to ask of the Finn.

"Why? Why are ya' helping' me? A Swede whom it is clear that ya' hate." Berwald mumbled into the solid and still smoky darkness of the kitchen-living area.

Tino paused at the doorframe of his and Peters' shared bedroom a little ways away from the propped up Swede.

Tino chewed his lip softly between his teeth before, he smiled mostly to himself.

"I think…I think it's because I realized that-you-you yourself did not ruin me or my farm. You yourself did not take the bread from my childs mouth nor the pride in my heart. It was the others-the ones who do this for country, for stale beliefs and pompous wealth and glory. But not you. You fight and fought because you needed to make a living-not the most honorable way to make money of course-but you did it to survive. I can relate to that, for I too am just trying to survive." Tino spoke into the warmed air, his heart quieting, his eyes drooping in their want of sleep.

Such words felt so wonderful spilling from his mouth, because they were true and truth and sure. Tino didn't hate Berwald-Berwald had done nothing to him but give him food to eat and company to share.

"Such noble words, such kindness-ya' truly are an angel among men." Berwald spoke quietly in awe and in favor, his voice doing it's best to not rumble.

Tino shook his head in the darkness before chuckling slightly.

"I am no angel." Tino mused as he pushed his body away from the creaking cold wall of the cottage and made his way nearer to the door to his bed where he would find his rest.

"No? And why are ya' not an angel?" Berwald asked with pursuit as he watched the Finn turn his head for one last time before he disappeared into the doorway.

"Because," Tino smirked, "before I resolved that I liked you and your company I laced cayenne pepper in some of your dressing wounds. It's gonna' itch like hell in a few minutes-Sweet dreams fettered Swede." Tino chuckled as he vanished into the inky darkness of the cottage.

Berwald sighed through his nose and let his head fall back onto the blankets, his eyes starting off into nothing as he simply smiled softly into the night.

"G'd night, clever Finn." He mumbled, his fingers lazily starting to itch against the bandages of his wounds that burdened like hellfire-but all he did was smile at his good fortune at finding an angel from above on a battle field below hell.

…

Well. Looks like Tino seems to have taken a liking to Berwald, eh? Oh and I guess you guys have noticed, Berwalds' accent isn't too bad-hope you guys are okay with that! I hope you guys liked this chapter! REVIEW PLEASE I'M BEGGIN' YA, GUYS! COME ON!

…

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION! THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITTED! IF ANYTHING IS WRONG WITH MY UNDERSTANDING OF HISTORY-Please correct me! Review please!
> 
> …
> 
> Authors Notes:
> 
> -It had only been a few weeks since the Danes had decided to make one of the first military advancements in the war-take back what had been stolen from them by the Swedish Empire long ago-take back Holstien-Gottorp.*-Holstien-Gottorp is a Swedish Satellite state during 1700, it is now southern Denmark and parts of Germany.
> 
> -"Skit!"*-"Shit" in Swedish


End file.
